


who would i be to deny you?

by minnow_writes



Category: Original Work
Genre: 2nd Person, F/F, Foreplay, but some oral, no explicit fucking, submissive butch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnow_writes/pseuds/minnow_writes
Summary: You cannot –will not– deny them. No matter how much they make you wait.
Relationships: Reader/Original Character
Kudos: 4





	who would i be to deny you?

**Author's Note:**

> **Content tags:** bondage, collar/leash, oral, praise kink, service top, strap, they/them dom

The room is dim when you enter. Shadows yawn and roll across the walls from the swaying of candle flames, awoken by the draft of air from your gentle opening of the door. It is slightly disorienting as you softly close the door with a _click_ – this subtle smoke-and-mirror haze. Your eyes adjust slowly.

“You’ve come as I’ve asked.” It’s a statement more than an observation.

“Of course,” you reply. You can see them now, on the bed. One leg crossed over the other, leaning back so casually. “Who would I be to deny you?”

They chuckle at that, and for some reason your cheeks flush just the tiniest bit. Who _would_ you be to deny them? Undeserving. You remain still.

“So eager to please.” They slide off the bed and walk towards you. You don’t dare move out of place – though your hands ache to rest on their waist, their neck – simply being here, being chosen is a privilege in and of itself – and you don’t dare spoil that.

You _are_ eager to please. Maybe that’s what’s the most embarrassing, what makes you wet and hard – you want no pleasure for yourself. You exist solely to please them, and you likethat. You’re _proud_ of that. And you bask in this as they stop a few inches away from you and rake their eyes up and down your body, evaluating you. You breathe a little deeper, heart beats a little faster. What will they ask of you? Instinctively, you clasp your hands behind your back. “Yes, sir,” is all you can think to say.

A smile creeps across their face. “Good.”

You nearly whine. You know they purposefully didn’t use a word, that they just left it at _good_ – you are good, but you want to be _more_ than just good – their good – _their_ good –

Somehow, you didn’t notice that they had something behind their back the entire time, and it is now dangling off of their index finger in front of you. A simple, thin black collar, and their finger holds onto it by its ring. “Kneel,” they command firmly, and without hesitation you obey.

You’ve done this what feels like a hundred times, but each time it feels like the first, when they slide the collar around your neck and pull it just a little tight. Your pleasure doesn’t matter now – not like you ever wanted it anyway, because their pleasure is your pleasure – and you keep your head just tilted a little down, awaiting another command. The pad of their finger presses gingerly into your chin, and they tilt your head up to force you to look at them. They’re evaluating you again, in that languid, teasing way, considering how nice you look like this for them. Maybe they’re thinking if they really want to toy with you today – or maybe they’re thinking about how they want you to please them this time. You are dutiful, and patient, and your hands are still clasped behind your back, and you are good.

When they first used you, they weren’t aware just how willing you were, how subservient and obedient you were, and they told you commands you were already willing to follow. As you watch them walk away to a drawer, you stay put – now they have used you so many times, they trust you will be good, and that makes you warm with pride, and a little wet and hard with arousal. You shift your weight a bit and feel your length shift against your thigh. Your ears flush hot. You’re already hard – you’ll always be hard – they saw it through your loose pants. No matter what, you’ll always show how ready you are to please them.

The clinking of metal and the little smirk they’re wearing catches your attention. They might have been standing there for some time, watching you fluster yourself. “Something on my pet’s mind?”

You can’t stop staring at the leash they’re holding. It’s your favorite thing, aside from pleasing them. “I’m just ready to please you, sir,” you breathe.

They make a point to glance down at the bulge in your pant leg. “That’s my good toy.” They hook the leash on your collar and tug you up. Hastily, you stand.

They gesture to your pants. “Off.” They come off.

You’re even more aware of yourself now the pants are gone. You’re sure your cheeks are pink now – this is not new, they’ve seen you plenty of times, but the situation makes you feel both prideful and a little embarrassed. They hum and absentmindedly caress you. You breathe in – sharp – and hold it for what feels like forever.

They let go of the leash, and you stay. You’re excited now – it’s embarrassing how excited you get, how eager you are, but you don’t care, this is what you want to do, this is what they want of you. They return with a short length of rope.

“Hands behind your back.”

You obey, and they take their time securing your wrists behind you. You know that if they said not to touch them, you wouldn’t, and they know that, too. But they like to see you a little bound up for them, a little at their mercy. And you want to be that for them. You want to be whatever they want.

You’re being led again, this time to the bed. But it seems like they have something a bit different in mind, and they stop you before leading you up. Instead, they grab you firmly by your neck and force you down on your knees again, and you don’t break eye contact with them as you’re pushed to the ground. The leash clinks as it is wrapped around a bed post and tied. When you swallow, the collar presses a little against your throat.

Still looking at you, they slide their hand beneath the band of their underwear. They’re just inches away from you, and you can smell how aroused they are, and hear their finger moving against themselves. Pleadingly, you look at them, silently begging them for permission, but too obedient to move on your own volition.

They smile impishly. “Come and get it.”

You know this is a teasing game, but who are you to deny them? So you lean forward, so close to kissing them through their underwear, and they take one step back. Just out of reach. You look at them again, and all they give you is a little chuckle like, _well?_ And so you scoot forward pathetically on your knees, and you lean forward again, now feeling the constraints of your wrists because all you want to do is just reach out and grab their thighs and pull them towards you, and they take another step back, and you almost whine, and they laugh at you, because they’re having so much fun toying with you, and who are you to deny them, and you’re still hard kneeling on the floor tied to a bedpost straining to get a kiss, a taste. And so you scoot forward again, and they step back again, and you move again and they step back again until the snapping tautness of the leash pulls your head back just a little and startles you out of your desperation, and they’re still just a few inches out of reach, and you beg _Please, please, please, I just want to make you feel good._

They’re still touching themselves, and with one hand they push off their underwear. You’re straining against the leash and collar now, but you don’t care – you’re so desperate to please them, you have to convey that. You can feel them looking down at you, even as they quietly moan, seeing how pathetic and eager you are, how hard you are still, pulling against your constraints to just even give them the slightest bit of pleasure. Your eyes flutter closed, because even though you’ve only moved a few feet, you’re exhausted – your head and abdomen are throbbing, you’re floating in that haze that you felt when you first entered the room, and you just need to be told what to do.

The moistness of their fingers tastes salty against your lips, and even in your reverie you wait for their command. Even though they don’t speak, you can feel how impressed they are. Even in your desperation, you are still good.

“Open.” You obey, and are finally privileged with just a taste.

They hum satisfactorily, and you beam with pride, even tied to a bedpost kneeling on the floor. Their still-wet fingers, now from your mouth, wind into your hair, and pull your head towards their pussy as they take that one step forward to put them in reach. This is unspoken permission, and you immediately begin to work, running your tongue through their folds, along their inner thighs, on their clit. You know you’re doing a good job by how tightly they’re gripping your hair, and your entire body throbs with the need to be inside of them.

Suddenly, they push your head away, and seem more purposeful in untying you from the bedpost. The rope goes too in a blink, tossed somewhere else. They drag you on the bed by the leash and pull you on top of them. Your hard cock hangs between your legs, ready for their pleasure. You look away sheepishly.

They grab your face and pull you towards them. “My little pet has been so good for me today,” they whisper, “getting my pussy ready for me to use their cock.”

You shudder and nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Is there something you want?”

You shake your head. “Just to please you.”

“That’s my good pet.” They pull you closer with the leash. “Who does your cock belong to?”

“You, sir.”

“Who does your cum belong to?”

You’re getting shaky. “You, sir.”

“That’s my good pet,” they purr. “Now fuck me.”


End file.
